


too much moonlight in these veins

by eena



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Canon Divergence - Robert's Rebellion, Cersei Lannister's C+ Long Term Planning, Genderswap, Jaime Lannister's C- Emotional Maturity, Multi, Ned Stark's B- Quest For Honour, Robert Baratheon's D- Kinging, Tyrion Lannister's Participation Trophy for Coping Mechanisms, Tywin Lannister's A+ Parenting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-30
Updated: 2019-05-17
Packaged: 2019-12-26 09:33:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18280463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eena/pseuds/eena
Summary: For if Lyanna was the wild northern beauty, then Elarra was that of the northern moon-a softer, paler luminescence hanging high above the icy lands of her father.  In truth, Lyanna was the beautiful Stark girl and Elarra could only ever be pretty in comparison.  Lyanna burned too bright, laughed too fetchingly, and raged too thunderously in the space set aside for both Stark girls that it seemed almost natural that Elarra was so often overlooked.  Elarra was solemn where her sister was fiery, cautious where her sister was daring, and deferential where her sister rebelled.  But for all that they failed to understand each other, a bond mightier than valyrian steel bond the sisters to one another.  For the Lady Elarra doted on her wild sister while the Lady Lyanna adored her solemn sister.  There was not a single thing that could dare hope to part them.Until Rhaegar Targaryen bestowed a wreath of winter roses that tore their lives asunder.





	1. moonlight over the dark waters of your soul

**Author's Note:**

> Genderswap AU-Eddard = Elarra
> 
> Titles from R.Queen's poetry

Title: too much moonlight in these veins  
Author: eena  
Rating: Mature  
Disclaimer: Not mine-I'm just having fun playing  
Summary: For if Lyanna was the wild northern beauty, then Elarra was that of the northern moon-a softer, paler luminescence hanging high above the icy lands of her father. In truth, Lyanna was the beautiful Stark girl and Elarra could only ever be pretty in comparison. Lyanna burned too bright, laughed too fetchingly, and raged too thunderously in the space set aside for both Stark girls that it seemed almost natural that Elarra was so often overlooked. Elarra was solemn where her sister was fiery, cautious where her sister was daring, and deferential where her sister rebelled. But for all that they failed to understand each other, a bond mightier than valyrian steel bond the sisters to one another. For the Lady Elarra doted on her wild sister while the Lady Lyanna adored her solemn sister. There was not a single thing that could dare hope to part them.

Until Rhaegar Targaryen bestowed a wreath of winter roses that tore their lives asunder.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Chapter One: moonlight over the dark waters of your soul

 

~*~*~

 

It had gone wrong too fast for him to stop it.

 

He had been lost in an intoxicated daze of Cersei's lips at his temple and the tightness of her cunt around his cock. Too long had he gone without his sweet sister that he had near lost all his senses when she came to him, disguised as a tavern wench, for a clandestine meeting in King's Landing. He was still drunk off the victory over the Kingswood Brotherhood and his subsequent knighthood and the promise of Cersei's embrace did not encourage him towards sobriety. She came to him with plans and ideas and demands and he said yes to them all with every maddening roll of her hips.

 

 

He barely registered the sound of the door crashing open as his release was upon him. He was shouting his sister's name while spilling his seed into her womb and missed the first of her screams. But her second and third roused him, as jarring as a bucket of ice cold water first thing in the morning.

 

 

He recognized the red and gold of the Lannister guards first before locking eyes with their uncle Kevan. If he hadn’t been so utterly frightened, if Cersei had not broken out into shrieking sobs as she frantically covered her nakedness, Jaime felt he might have laughed at the bewildered look on Kevan’s face. But the gods had granted him some wits and he remained blissfully silent even as Cersei continued to weep.

 

 

“Your father wants to see you,” was all Kevan could manage once he found his voice. The bewildered look had been replaced with a such a severe one that it silenced Cersei immediately. He looked every inch Tywin Lannister’s brother in that moment, green eyes burning with rage. Jaime had never really been scared of his uncle growing up, but now he most assuredly was.

 

Clothes were thrown at them, still scandalously twisted about in the sheets. “Now!”

 

He wondered then if he should do something, but the guards were between him and his sword and Kevan may have been bewildered but was no fool. His sword, dagger, and anything of use was kept in Kevan's hand, and four guards surrounded him while only two flanked Cersei, once again in her tavern wench disguise. She was out the room first and Jaime must suffer through near an hour of suffocating silence with Kevan and the remaining guards. When they do leave, it was through a back door and a series of dark alleys. The Red Keep loomed before them soon enough, and he was shoved into a room in the Tower of the Hand for another hour or so of waiting.

 

The guards were left with him; two in the room and two outside the door. Kevan had not said one word to him since they had left the tavern; his uncle had not even looked at him since Cersei had been taken away. And though he wouldn't say that he had been particularly close to his uncle before, remembering the rage and disgust on Kevan's face in the immediate aftermath left Jaime feeling hollow. _I have lost my family. They will not let Cersei near me again and none of them will look at me with love or pride again._

 

Jaime had never felt guilt for his feelings for Cersei. His sister had always mattered more than anyone or anything else. He had wanted to run away with her, had been desperate to avoid the marriage trap their father was making for them both. She had always denied him; she was supposed to be queen, it was her destiny. And he would have been her knight, joining the Kingsguard and therefore always within reach of his sweet sister. Had he really been swayed by her words, or had he always been too coward to follow through with his plans to run away? Would they ever done it-learned to live as something other than Lannister? They should have tried-they should have been more careful-they should . . .

 

_How did they know? Were we seen?_ It would have been worse if they had. If news had gotten to Tywin Lannister about this through some tavern dweller or, worse, one of those damnable birds Tywin always complained about. Oh, they had been stupid to risk it here-Casterly Rock was different. The Rock was home and had kept this secret of theirs for so many years. They had been rash-Jaime had been too impatient. They had gambled too much and lost everything.

 

_If it is kept in the family, we may survive. If it has gone beyond, then Father might kill us both._

 

It was near the hour of ghosts (and how appropriate that might be) when the door to the room opened and he was led from the room. The guards surrounded him once more and he was escorted to the Hand's solar. The guards did not follow him into the room, and that made him more nervous than before. It was dark in the room, the windows tightly covered and all the candles blown out. The only light came from the fireplace, half blotted out due to the shadowy figure of his father before it. Tywin Lannister stood with his back to the flames, leaning ever so slightly against a large chair that faced the fireplace. His green eyes were downcast, his hands clasped tightly together as he refused to look upon his son.

 

"I will ask you this, only the once," Tywin's voice was low, but still so very loud. Jaime felt each word reverberating around him in the still of the room. "You will answer truthfully, or else there will be immediate consequences."

 

There was a leather strap hanging over the back of the chair. Jaime had felt such a strap just once before, when his father had discovered that he and Cersei had been switching clothes so that she could attend his lessons instead of her own. They had been young, and it had just been three straps. More than enough to scare his young self, but not enough to hurt too long. This would be a different sort of strapping, and the stern set of Tywin's jaw told Jaime everything he needed to know.

 

"Did you spill your seed in your sister?"

 

It was physically distressing to hear the words from his father's mouth. The quiet, even nature of the delivery was worse than the rage and hatred of Kevan's words earlier. A gasp left him, caving his chest inwards, and it was a terrible few moments when he struggled to push down his panic. Tywin waited, far too patient for the subject matter, and it made Jaime feel shame for the first time. He could do nothing but answer, and answer honestly. "Yes, father."

 

A sudden keening wail split the silence of the room. Jaime startled as Cersei rose from the chair, previously hidden from his view by their father. Her eyes, green as his own, were with fear and rage. "You stupid fool-"

 

Tywin's hand cut her off, his palm striking her cheek suddenly and viciously. Jaime shouted while Cersei screamed, and he tried to rush to where she had fallen but Tywin stepped between the two of them. There was a naked dagger in his hand and ice in his eyes, and when he nodded slightly, it was to signal to Kevan, previously hiding in one of the many shadows of the room. Kevan had drawn his sword and stood very obviously to Jaime's right. Jaime was outwitted and without arms; he took a step back and Tywin watched him move away.

 

"Take her to her rooms," Tywin addressed Kevan, but his eyes never left Jaime's face. "Send for Pycelle; she needs Moon Tea, every day for a moon's turn. There can be nothing left to chance. She is not to leave her rooms at all; send her meals there and give her two new maids. She is to have no means of writing; only her sewing. I will send for a septa and she will keep her busy stitching clothes for the less unfortunate of King's Landing."

 

"Father, you cann-"

 

Tywin grabbed one of her arms and forcefully pulled her to her feet. Whatever she meant to say, Cersei promptly forget it when Tywin took her chin tightly in his hand. "I would have made you the queen-I have worked so hard to make that happen. And you do what you can to make it impossible. Forget the crown-you have surrendered your own honour. What lord will have you, when you have no maidenhead to give because you gave it to your brother!"

 

 

Jaime could never stand for Cersei to be hurt, to even be reprimanded. "The Targaryens-"

 

 

"You are not Targaryens!" and now Tywin was shouting. His outburst was sudden, violent in both its arrival and departure. Jaime flinched and Cersei cowered before Tywin took in a large breath and settled himself once again. "And regardless, look at their line-look at who now sits the throne. Do you see a wealth of strong, able-bodied, sound-minded Targaryens littering the capital? Do you think them something to aspire to, boy? A family half full of madness and the other half weakness-don't waste my time with feeble excuses as to why you were fucking your sister!"

 

 

Tywin pushed Cersei off into Kevan's hands, and their uncle quietly took his sister away. Jaime watched her go in desperation, the rage and the tears on her face branding itself unto his memory. "She tried to blame your uncle; claimed it was a ploy of his to usurp my position as head of the family. She claimed that she had met you in the tavern for a private celebration of your achievements, wholly innocent in all ways. But that Kevan and his men came upon you and kidnapped you while making wild accusations. She doesn't know the truth. She was followed from the Red Keep by my men; she bears a strong resemblance to your mother. More so every day; I have lived in fear that one day Aerys would notice, that he would try again to-"

 

 

Tywin stopped and turned away from him. "Never mind; she is nothing like your mother. Neither of you are-if that demon brother of yours had not killed her, then this would have. How is it that I can be thrice-cursed when it comes to my offspring?"

 

 

Jaime was a knight; he had split blood in the Kingswood in the name of the king and he had been knighted for his bravery. But he felt naught but a child right then; a remorseful, useless child. "Father, I-"

 

 

The slap was not unexpected, though it stung terribly all the same. "Don't waste my time with your words. I cannot stand to look at you, either of you. You will depart for the Rock tomorrow. Your uncle Kevan will escort you. You will stay at the Rock, you will attend your lessons and learn lordship. You will carry on as a dutiful son and you will do every thing I say without argument; you will marry when and where I say, and you will be grateful for it when it happens. You will not leave the Westerlands except with my consent and if you break any of these edicts even once, I will have your sister killed."

 

 

Jaime left the next morning.

 

~*~*~


	2. starsong in her bones

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not proofread-forgive my mistakes

~starsong in her bones~

 

 

~*~*~

 

It had gone wrong too fast for her to stop it.

 

 

"Mind your sister," had been her father's farewell, and his usual one at that.  Elarra had nodded obediently, like she usually did, and Lyanna scowled even though she had been pretending she hadn't been eavesdropping, as was her habit.  That was the start of the journey to Harrenhal, nothing special or different than any other outing that Elarra could remember.  Lord Rickard remained to be the Stark in Winterfell and Brandon briefly took his place as head of the family.  It was an ill fit, as it always was, because Brandon cared more for excitement than comportment, and fueled his siblings more mischievous and headstrong tendencies rather than rein them in.  Brandon was no less wild than Lyanna, and thus the added instruction for Elarra.

 

 

And she did mind her sister.  Elarra had been minding her sister for as long as she could remember.  Brandon was the firstborn son and heir-his attentions were always turned elsewhere.  Elarra was the firstborn daughter and her attentions had been channeled towards her sister ever since their father first despaired of his wolf-blooded daughter.  Elarra was quieter than her younger sister, listened more intently and obeyed quicker.  She wore dresses because it was expected of her while Lyanna had hidden caches of boys' clothes all over Winterfell.  It took all of their maids efforts to put Lyanna into a dress and keep her in it all day-and yet they always failed.  Lya needed less than a minute to dash off and swap her dress for trousers, and then she would be on her horse or running through the godswood and none of the servants had a hope of catching her.

 

 

They shared the same long brown hair, but Elarra kept hers neat and braided in the northern styles while Lyanna left her curls out and tangled for all to see.  The maids often abandoned her hair in their daily struggle, and it was only Elarra who could wrangle the mess of curls into something presentable on the occasions it was required.  The sisters also shared the same grey eyes and longish Stark face.  Over the years, Lyanna had grown more pleasingly into those Stark features, her grey eyes alight with passion and daring while Elarra's were more peaceful, as soft as fog.  For if Lyanna was the wild northern beauty, than Elarra was that of the northern moon-a softer, paler luminescence hanging high above the icy lands of her father.  In truth, Lyanna was the beautiful Stark daughter and Elarra could only ever be pretty in comparison.  Lyanna burned too bright, laughed too fetchingly, and raged too thunderously in the space set aside for both Stark girls that it seemed almost natural that Elarra was so often overlooked.  Elarra was solemn where her sister was fiery, cautious where her sister was daring, and deferential where her sister rebelled.  Lyanna's wildness and Elarra's stoicism often clashed horribly against each other, and it seemed natural that they would be in contention always.

 

 

But for all that they failed to understand each other, a bond mightier than valyrian steel bond the sisters to one another.  All their differences did not mean they shared nothing.  Though Lyanna was by far the better horsewoman, both sisters enjoyed riding through the northern countrysides.  And as docile as Elarra seemed, she shared Lyanna's fascination with swordplay.  It was here that Brandon's reckless nature benefitted them both, for there were endless secret training sessions in the godswood either in the dark of the night or in the wee hours of the morning.  When Brandon had gone off to foster at Barrowton, both girls had forced little Benjen into training with them.  And once Lord Rickard had sent his youngest to the Vale for fostering, it was just the two of them clashing swords under the shadow of the weirwood.

 

 

But nonetheless, the truth remained that Elarra was dutiful and Lyanna was wild so it would Elarra's responsibility to keep her sister in hand.  Even now, well into the time that they could no longer blame childhood for their infractions, it remained the truth.  Elarra was nearing eight-and ten while Lyanna was five-and ten.  They left Winterfell not as girls, but as women flowered and betrothed; Lyanna promised to Robert Baratheon of Storm's End and Elarra to Jaime Lannister of Casterly Rock.  The betrothal of both his daughters to the heirs of powerful southern houses was a feat that most could not believe Rickard Stark capable of pulling off.  It was also a feat that Lyanna had not yet forgiven him for.

 

 

"It isn't fair, Elle," began many a lament on the road to Harrenhal.  "Bad enough that he must betroth us, but must he send us so far?  One of us should have been allowed to stay in the North."

 

 

"What?  And thwart our father's ambitions?" Brandon laughed as he rode his horse in circles around them before galloping off to make trouble further up in the traveling party.  Lyanna scowled after him, as she often did whenever anyone brought up the issue of their father's  _southern ambitions_ before grumbling about sacrificing children for the sake of politics low under her breath to avoid admonishment from Elarra.  Brandon himself had not been spared those ambitions either, but he would bring his Tully bride home to the North while both daughters would make their home far away from Winterfell.  And though Elarra had not yet made peace with the notion that she would wed into the Lannisters, she had an easier time of it than Lyanna.

 

 

"He already has bastards, Elle," was another favourite starter.  "He will never stay in one woman's bed-how will I live with a man so lecherous?"

 

 

"He is not all that bad," would be Benjen's only contribution, faithful ever in defence of his foster brother.  "He wants to take you riding and hunting, and he will let you keep doing all those things that you love to do."

 

 

"Yes, lament more for our dear Elle, little sister, for you go to a house with no good-parents to stifle you," Brandon championed this point loudly and with regularity.  "She will have to deal with a husband and a good-father the likes of Tywin Lannister.  They've written a song about him, you know.  Oh, and let's not forget the Lannister's hide a demon monkey in the bowels of the Rock."

 

 

"Does he have a song?" Benjen asked with laughter.

 

 

"Both of you leave Elle be!" and as before, Lyanna turned to chase after Brandon in defence of her sister, who trotted after them to try for peace, and Benjen nearly fell from his mount from laughing.

 

 

It was hardly better at Harrenhal.  Elarra was used to minding her sister, but trying to rein in her brothers as well was almost too much.  Lyanna, ever resourceful, managed to slip away more than once.  On the second time, she came back with an injured crannogmen and a tale of three southern squires she had beaten off with a wooden tourney sword.

 

 

"You cannot be so reckless, Lya," Elarra admonished even as she tended to the crannogman, Howland of House Reed.  "What would Father say if he heard you attacked three men with a wooden sword?"

 

 

"Make sure it's live steel the next time?" Brandon had not stopped grinning since the story had been told, crowing to everyone who would listen about the sharpness of a she wolf's fangs.

 

 

"He's our bannerman," Lyanna had set her jaw in that stubborn way of hers, the one that made her resemble their father more than ever.  "I couldn't leave him there."

 

 

"My apologies for the inconvenience," and then Howland Reed tried to leave their tent in penance and Elarra had to firmly push him back down onto the cot.

 

 

"My admonitions have naught to do with you, Lord Reed.  Please rest, and know that you have a place in our party.  However rash my sister may be, she is right in one thing.  You are our bannerman, and most assuredly welcome here."

 

 

The situation was made much worse when the Baratheon and Lannister parties arrived.  Elarra was invited to a private dinner with her soon to be good-family and Robert Baratheon had not left Benjen's side since his arrival.  Lyanna grew gloomier in her betrothed's company while Elarra had yet to even meet hers.

 

 

"Jaime sends his apologies that he could not come to the tourney to meet you in person," Lord Tywin told her, his tone crisp and entirely unapologetic.  "There was an incident with some bandits in and around Crakehall; my son is talented with the sword, but young enough to recklessly believe himself impervious to harm.  The wound is healing nicely, but our maester warned against travel."

 

 

Elarra had nodded as graciously as she could.  Firm she could be with her siblings, but she could not help her shyness around others.  She managed a,  "I am sorry to hear it.  I will pray for his speedy recovery," which seemed to pacify the Lord Hand, but not his daughter.

 

 

"Will you even be able to find one of your ghastly trees to pray to?" the Lady Cersei had been overt in her disapproval of Elarra from their first meeting.  Benjen reported that he overheard her complaining to some of the younger ladies in attendance about how her father had bound her glorious brother to a 'hideous northern savage'.

 

 

"Cersei, if you haven't the sense to speak courteously, then perhaps you shouldn't be allowed in polite company," Lord Tywin hardly ever had to raise his voice, but Elarra found that his words carried no matter what the circumstance.  Lady Cersei went near purple at the admonishment but kept her tongue guarded for the rest of the disastrous meal.  Elarra had been infinitely grateful to escape shortly afterwards, relaying an abridged version of events to her siblings for she had no desire to try and keep Lyanna from Cersei should her sister ever hear the truth.

 

 

The days stretch on, and Lyanna roped Benjen into one of her most dangerous schemes to date.  Lord Rickard's southern ambitions make for the most uncomfortable seating arrangements during the tourney.  Elarra sat with Lady Cersei and some of the Lannister girls on her right, with Benjen and Robert on her left.  Brandon was seated just above them, alongside Catelyn Tully and her sister Lysa, covertly eyeing Ashara Dayne seated up with the royals in a manner that was bound to get him in trouble.  She sent him a disapproving look, appalled at his behaviour.  Lyanna and Howland were no where to be seen, and a nudge to Benjen had him concocting a tale of how Lyanna felt ill that morning and choose to forgo the joust while Howland was still abed with his injuries.  Robert rumbled some vague conciliatory noises at that and tried to spend the rest of the joust looking like he wasn't staring down the bosoms of every young lady around him.  

 

 

Elarra, immediately suspicious, made to rise and check on her sister, when the crowd began murmuring feverishly all around.  And she knew, Elarra knew, the second the mystery knight took his place in the lists-she knew.  Benjen wilted under her glare but said not a word even as Robert roared boisterously at his side.  Brandon was laughing in his seat and Elarra could do nothing but sit and fret.  The mystery knight took to the field with three particular challenges, each name causing her to narrow her eyes further in Benjen's direction.

 

 

"You are the greatest of fools!" she seethed into his ear.  "If anything happens to her, I swear to the gods, Benjen-"

 

 

And there was no time to finish any idle threats.  The day passed impossibly fast, and the mystery knight won all three of his challenges.  Just when it seemed like they might be able to get away with it, the King rose from his seat and demanded the mystery knight be unmasked.  The knight's escape and the subsequent chase are chaotic from start to finish.  King Aerys continued to scream for the knight's head as he commanded his son and others to give chase.  Elarra rose, only to be shoved back down in her seat by Brandon. 

 

 

"I will go," he whispered in her ear before rising to join the fray.   Benjen meant to join him, but Elarra took hold of his arm and dug in her nails.  She was unable to do anything for Lyanna; her sister's fate was in the hands of the gods.  But Benjen she could keep, if only to have something to center her rage and frustration upon.  Elarra barely exchanged the necessary courtesies as Cersei and her gaggle of ladies took their leave, the golden-haired beauty audibly snorting at Elarra's stunted farewell.  Robert had gone to join Brandon and Benjen was left to escort her and the Tully girls back to their respective tents.

 

 

Benjen tried to apologize, in the privacy of their tents, but Elarra turned her back on him.  They sat at opposite ends of the tent, Elarra alternating between ignoring her brother and glaring angrily at him.  Howland was the first to return, and then promptly leave when ordered out by Elarra.  She did not blame him as such, for she knew her sister far too well, but she would not tolerate his presence before Lyanna was safely returned.

 

 

That would not happen until just before sunset.  Lyanna tumbled into the tent with Brandon just behind her, and Elarra embraced her fiercely before her anger took control.  "How could you be so stupid?"

 

Lyanna winced, a smudge of dirt along her right cheek that seemed to spread the more she rubbed at it.  "They deserved-"

 

 

"Brandon could have done it; Howland could have done it himself-even Benjen, though he is only four-and ten, could have done it!  Why would you do something so reckless?"

 

 

Lyanna's eyes flashed in anger, but it was no match for Elarra's ire.  "I am better than all of them-"

 

 

Brandon made some sort of affronted noise at this, but Elarra paid him no mind.  "You are a lady, Lyanna!  When will you understand that?  If they had caught you, who knows what the king would have done?  Father would have had to come answer for your scandal-you would have shamed our house for years to come!  Why don't you ever think of these things before you act!"

 

 

At some point, their brothers left the tent, but the two sisters engaged in this battle for near an hour.  Peace came only because they were expected in the feasting hall, and they could ill afford an absence.  Lyanna remained obstinate in her belief of the rightness of her actions and Elarra resolute in her anger and disappointment.  Brandon dancing with Ashara Dayne as soon as Catelyn retired for the night did little to improve her mood.  Benjen stayed clear of her, perhaps rightly so, and wound up drunk alongside Robert.  The night ended with no peace made, but the morning dawned with an apology and tearful embrace.

 

 

"I know you are still young, Lya," Elarra mumbled into her sister's hair, arms clutching her tighter and tighter.  "But please understand, you must think before you act.  I am afraid one day that you will make such a mess for yourself that naught will free you from it."

 

 

"Why worry?" Lyanna laughed into her shoulder, arms squeezing just as tight around Elarra's middle.  "I have you, don't I?"

 

And that was the truth of it.  For the Lady Elarra doted on her wild sister while the Lady Lyanna adored her solemn sister.  There was not a single power in the land that could dare hope to part them.

 

 

Until Rhaegar Targaryen bestowed a wreath of winter roses that tore their lives asunder.

 

~*~*~


	3. a galaxy of shadows and scars

~a galaxy of shadows and scars~

 

Jaime had been too “injured” to attend Old Lord Whent’s tourney and therefore was not responsible for any of its scandals. And yet, here he was, suffering for them anyway.

 

Tywin Lannister was ever a man of his word, and had held Jaime to his ever since banishing him from King’s Landing. Jaime went back to the Rock, he attended his lessons, and he learned lordship. He was a dutiful son and did everything his father commanded without argument. When his father sent word that Jaime’s betrothal to Lady Elarra Stark had been fixed, Jaime was appropriately grateful. And Jaime did not leave the Westerlands without his father’s explicit permission.

 

Jaime had not left the Westerlands since he had first arrived there. And Cersei had not left their father’s side since that terrible night. He had not seen his sister since she was taken from their father’s solar that night by Kevan, and had not a word from her either. It was simply as if she ceased to exist in his world, and he in hers. The separation was almost physically painful, but he did nothing to find relief. Jaime knew his father; he believed Tywin at his word.

 

If Jaime ever disobeyed Tywin again, Cersei would die.

 

Kinslaying was a terrible sin, one that no amount of gold would ever wash away. But Tywin was rich, resourceful, and cruel. Cersei’s death would not come at his hands, but from his coin. And while that distinction might be important only to his father, Cersei would be dead all the same.

 

Lordship was as boring and stifling as he remembered. And though his newly bestowed knighthood seemed to rust from disuse, Kevan gave him no room for respite. Jaime was barely allowed in the training yards, his days planned and scheduled to such an extent that he was surprised they remembered to allow him time to eat and sleep. Reading histories was dreadful, learning about food stores and winter rationing was mind-numbing, and trying his hand at political theory was embarrassingly dismal. Kevan made him write almost all day long, and often rewrite when what was already written was too messy or illegible. Jaime squinted through headache after headache as the letters swam and chased each other across the pages while his uncle lectured and lectured and lectured.

 

Thank god for little Tyrion, or Jaime might have gone completely mad.

 

Kevan, despite his low boiling rage towards Jaime, was kinder to Tyrion than Jaime had anticipated. It was so hard to focus on all these lessons, but it was made easier when Kevan allowed Tyrion to join as well. His brother often broke the monotony of such lessons with questions and insights that seem to please Kevan rather than annoy him. Jaime appreciated the change of pace and thanked the gods for blessing his brother with more intellect than he had himself. Even at nine namedays, Tyrion was able to understand the bulk of Jaime’s lessons, and therefore was very helpful in making sure that Jaime understood them as well.

 

“When they force me to be the Lord of Casterly Rock, you have to be here,” Jaime told his brother, to Tyrion’s obvious delight. “You have to be here to tell me what to do, because the gods know that I will not know what to do.”

 

“And of what your future lady wife?” Tyrion teased, though his voice held a tint of worry underneath the mirth. “What if she wants to tell you what to do instead?”

 

“Then we will buy her many ugly trees to keep her busy and pious while we take care of matters. Have no fear, little brother. Lions beat wolves, every time.”

 

“But aren’t the Starks supposed to be direwolves?” Tyrion was already too clever, always ready with a witty remark or four. “I think a direwolf could definitely match a lion. We’ll find out soon enough, I suspect.”

 

“Sometimes I wonder why you’re my favourite brother.”

 

“I’m your only brother.”

 

“Right, I knew there was a reason.”

 

~*~

 

They said the tourney was cursed, start to finish. Jaime heard whispers of what had happened during the joust-the mystery knight and his disappearance, the eventual victory of Prince Rhaegar, and the scandalous crowning of the Queen of Love and Beauty. It would have been funnier if Lyanna Stark wasn’t the younger sister of his future bride, and funnier still if that had been the end of Harrenhal’s surprises. But none of them were that fortunate.

 

The raven that delivered the news to the Rock was very short on details. Jaime had very little time in between to ask questions or even to better prepare himself before Tywin and the Lannister party were riding through the gates of Casterly Rock. He already knew it wouldn’t be smart to ask his father for more details, and he was assured later by his uncle Tygett that the downright murderous look on Tywin’s face that day had been there since they had departed in such a rush from the Riverlands. Such was his father’s rage that Jaime even purposefully looked away from Cersei, despite being so desperate to see her after their year long separation. And while that discretion might have spared him from being the target of Tywin’s ire, it did not spare him from what had arrived with his father.

 

There were fewer direwolf banners than lion ones, but still a good amount. He thought perhaps his betrothed would emerge from the wheelhouse alongside his sister, but she did not. Jaime fought to keep his eyes from Cersei and sheer survival instincts kept him from looking at his father; that left Tyrion. He looked down at his brother with obvious confusion and Tyrion, though endlessly clever most of the time, only shrugged.

 

Tywin dismounted first and strode towards them. Jaime and Tyrion quickly bowed their heads and let Kevan do all the talking. There were the usual boring greetings, more strained and awkward given how Tywin curtly replied. Jaime greeted his father when it was his turn and only then did Tywin turn to the Stark riders and motioned for someone to come forward.

 

She was apparently on horseback and hidden amidst her father’s men. The Stark banners parted slightly as two horses pushed forward, bearing two lady riders. Jaime looked between them, one tall and pretty in an almost boring way and the other shorter and beautiful in dark and almost savage way. They dismounted together, but it was the taller, duller one that stepped forward when his father called.

 

“Lady Elarra Stark, my son Ser Jaime Lannister,” Tywin was curt in his introductions, though the Stark girl showed no acknowledgement of it. It seemed the ride between Harrenhal and Casterly Rock had taught his betrothed a thing or two about his father, and really, maybe that was for the best. It just meant less for Jaime to teach her (assuming he would be so inclined as to teach her anything).

 

The girl curtsied in response to his bow, murmuring something that might have been a greeting if he bothered to listen to it. The wilder girl was introduced as her sister, and this one looked as sullen as he felt. He and Elarra had been in each other’s presence for maybe three minutes when his father announced the wedding date had been moved up and everyone had one month to prepare before stomping his way into the keep.

 

And the details would come later, after a terribly tense dinner in which Jaime did his best not to look at Cersei and try to give attention to the Lady Elarra. A task made much more difficult as Elarra proved overly timid and stuttered most of her words down into her dinner plate. Her sister was worse, glowering at almost everything and grounding out courtesies that sounded more like curses. It was only then that the Lady Elarra seemed at all interesting, for she switched easily from nervous stuttering to curt and fiery admonishments to her sister. Tywin insisted that Jaime take the lady on a chaperoned turn in the gardens after dinner, which he did reluctantly.

 

“Did you enjoy the tourney, my lady?” was his first real question to her, in the dubious privacy afforded to them with her sister and his aunt trailing just behind them.

 

It did not seem like a wise choice, as her expression went from an awkward attempt at smiling to a disapproving frown. “We do not have many tourneys in the North, my lord, so I fear I may have failed to appreciate it entirely. It seemed a bit wasteful and superfluous to me.”

 

The scowl on her sister’s face betrayed an obvious disagreement, but Elarra either failed or did not care to notice. “I was sorry to hear that you had to miss it, my lord, though I am pleased to see you look recovered. Does your injury still bother you?”

 

Oh yes, his “injury”. He had almost forgotten in the whirlwind of activity since his father’s return to the Rock. “My lady is too kind to worry for my welfare. The maester tells me I am fully recovered, and ready for the next tourney, though perhaps we won’t attend given your dislike of them?”

 

This caused her eyes to widen and returned her to her awkward stuttering from before. “I meant-I apologize if I- My lord-“ and so it went on until his aunt suggested it was time to retire and Jaime had to make a concentrated effort not to flee immediately to his rooms. He did his best, bowed over her hand and lightly kissed her knuckles in farewell. It had a curious effect of making her face pale even more than usual, and he thought then the Starks must really have ice in their veins if the girl cannot even blush when embarrassed.

 

Tyrion awaited him in the corridor to his rooms, burning with questions not limited to the ladies Stark as evident in the confused look he gives the two guards posted outside Jaime’s chambers. Jaime didn’t have the energy or the bravery to tell his brother the truth about them, so he related what he could about his betrothed and the impending ceremony.

 

“She’s as skittish as a foal, about as articulate as one too, and though she’s not as fair as her sister, she seems to have inherited a sweeter disposition than the glowering Lady Lyanna,” Jaime fell onto his bed face first and contemplated screaming into his pillows. The bed jostled as Tyrion joined him and a heavy sort of silence filled the room.

 

“Why did the king dismiss Father?” was not the question Jaime was expecting, but was a kindness he would accept. “Why would the king be so angry that you did not attend the tourney?”

 

“Who knows for sure,” Jaime thought back to his prior dreams of a white cloak and a lifetime of his sister. “They don’t call him the Mad King for nothing. Everyone knows Father keeps the realm running as well as it does in spite of the king’s growing madness.”

 

“Maybe that’s why, then,” Tyrion kicked his little legs off the edge of the bed and fiddled his fingers. “Wouldn’t have made a sane king happy to hear that, let alone a mad one.”

 

Jaime made a grunting noise in agreement before rolling onto his back and glaring up at his ceiling. “I don’t want to marry, Tyrion. I’m not made to be a husband, or a lord. This is going to end in disaster.”

 

“You don’t want to marry, or you don’t want to marry Lady Elarra?” Tyrion gallantly averted his gaze and spoke quietly down to his tiny clenched fists. “I don’t know if it’s truly a sin or not, but you shouldn’t cross Father. Not now.”

 

Jaime stared at his little brother, his eyes wide with disbelief. His breathing became erratic, shuddering and taxing just like that night in the Tower of the Hand. “Tyrion, what are you-“

 

“I heard Father, with Aunt Genna. Cersei is going with her to Storm’s End after your wedding,” Jaime’s heart began to beat harder and faster than before. “He’s arranged a match to Stannis Baratheon and Aunt Genna was yelling about idiotic Lannister men throwing their daughters away to worthless second sons. Father said he had wanted her to marry to elevate our house, but now all he could do was marry her away to keep our house from being further insulted. He said-he said a second son was almost more than she deserved.”

 

The urge to scream had returned, stifled by a chilling sense of dread. “Cersei won’t stand for it.”

 

“She doesn’t know, not yet,” Tyrion shrugged and failed at keeping his expression neutral. There was no love lost between sister and brother, but even so he looked concerned. “From what I overheard, she won’t be told until closer to her departure. Jaime-what did you two do?”

 

Tyrion was too young to know the truth, even though Jaime suspected he knew far more than he should, far more than any young boy should know. “It wasn’t what we did, little brother; it was that we got caught. That it was Father who caught us is the only reason we live.”

 

There was a long silence, oppressive in length and weight. Tyrion broke it with a small sigh. “The Lady Elarra is fair and kind. Try and find solace in that, brother. And if you cannot, think only this: the Lady Elarra is Cersei’s salvation. The closer you go to her, the safer our sister will be.”

 

~*~

 

An heir and a spare-that’s what his father wanted from him. Jaime was to married to Lady Elarra in order to produce an heir and a spare. It was the minimum that his duty demanded of him. The lordship was harder, but he had Tyrion for that, maybe even the lady herself if she proved capable in those matters. The making of heirs, though, that was entirely his responsibility. It was, truthfully speaking, the easiest of his duties and the hardest as well.

 

Cersei was close, yet far from him. And the second he married the Lady Elarra and put a child in her belly, he would lose his golden sister. Cersei was his other half, his love, and his heart’s one desire; she was also jealous, unrelenting, and unforgiving. Jaime’s children with Elarra would guarantee Cersei’s safety, and she in turn would hate him for it. It was maddening.

 

The days before his wedding passed in an alarmingly quick fashion. He still took his lessons, all the more nerve-wracking as his father took Kevan’s place in instruction. He was measured for wedding clothes, instructed in vows and expectations, and spent an inordinate amount of time with his betrothed while they ‘planned’ the event. 

 

The Lady Elarra proved no more interesting over time. Though the stuttering lessened each and every day, she was still terribly awkward in his presence. She appeared no more interested in wedding plans as he was, but not for the same reasons. They would sit with her sister and his aunt, discussing flowers and food and drinks and clothes-all of the highest quality. As the wedding grew more and more extravagant, the more disproving Elarra appeared. She asked, only the once, if all of this was truly necessary.

 

“Would you like to tell your future good-father that the wedding is too opulent?” Aunt Genna answered in a careless, unconcerned way. “Perhaps you would like to tell him that the marriage of his eldest son need not be so . . . much?”

 

Elarra was dull, not mad. He watched her purse her lips together and never open them again unless to agree to each and every grand addition. She got his attention only the once, when Genna was far enough away and Lyanna too busy sulking by the windows that an illusion of almost privacy descended on them. Elarra had a scrap of gold cloth wrapped around her fingers, the material of her wedding dress no less, and contemplated all the baubles and gems Genna had shown her would be added to it. “And how will I walk in a dress that is heavier than I?”

 

Not her first complaint, and he was almost irritated by them now. “Well, you can’t very well be married naked, can you?”

 

“It would more honest than this.”

 

That gave him pause, and he glanced at her only to find a slight smirk twisting her lips and a mischievous sort of glint to those grey eyes. “It’s not like they’re not going to rip it off later. Is it not doubly unfair, to first insist on trapping you in more fabrics than a seamstress’s shop can hold and then to say, don’t worry, we’ll rip it off you when we’re drunk and lusty enough? Lyanna’s right, a southern wedding is not for the benefit of the bride.”

 

He laughed at that. “You’re both wrong; all little girls in the south dream of their wedding day and their handsome knight or prince of a husband. I’m told that is the pinnacle of a woman’s ambitions-to get a handsome, gallant husband to dote upon.”

 

The smirk was back. “And you were no doubt told that by another man. Tell me, Ser Jaime, do you think women to be a foreign race from man-are we, in any way, less human than you?”

 

“Of course not.”

 

“And do you believe that the pinnacle of your ambition to get a pretty, fertile bride to put your children into?”

 

He scoffed at the very idea. “Never. Why make the mundane your ambition?”

 

And then she turned those grey eyes on him, those orbs of swirling winter storm clouds, and finally dropped her small smile for her more customary dour expression. “Exactly, my lord. Why would you dream of the mundane?”

 

Jaime suspected she might have insulted him, but didn’t know how he should (or even if he could) call attention to it. He snapped his jaw shut when Aunt Genna finally rejoined them and resolved to ask Tyrion later.

 

His brother’s subsequent laughing fit helped him not at all.

 

“I’m not mundane,” he muttered, mood darkening as Tyrion laughed harder and harder. “I’m Ser Jaime Lannister-the heir to Casterly Rock, knighted by Ser Arthur Dayne himself. I won glory in the battle against the Kingswood Brotherhood, and the only thing I have in greater quantity than gold is good looks. I’m not mundane.”

 

“Ah, and you’ve shown yourself to be not-mundane in all your interactions with the lady?” Tyrion was still laughing a bit and Jaime wondered if it would be cruel to push him off the corner of his bed in retaliation. “I’m sure that you always engage in deep and meaningful conversations, take her on grand tours of the castle, and try to find out what she likes so as to plan for your future adventures. I’m quite sure you don’t just show up to meet her when Father tells you to, and don’t just smile vacantly and nod at all the wedding deliberations. Tell me, my not-mundane brother-tell me one thing you know of Lady Elarra besides the fact she is from the north and has a grumpy sister with a slightly tarnished reputation?”

 

Jaime opened his mouth to argue, to cut a witty remark, but stopped. Tyrion looked entirely too smug as Jaime struggled to come up with a counterpoint. “She . . . hates money?”

 

“She hates money?” Tyrion looked unconvinced.

 

“Well, she only really speaks to complain,” Jaime began to pace the length of his chambers in mild agitation. “First, it was all about how tourneys are wasteful and superfluous. Then she told Aunt Genna that the wedding need not be so ‘much’. And just today she was complaining that the dress we are spending a ludicrous amount of gold on to make _just for her_ will be too heavy to wear. I think she hates that we are so wealthy-must be some Northern savage nonsense her father taught her.”

 

Tyrion sighed in great exaggeration. “It’s almost as if it’s not Cersei, you’re utterly without sense,” his little brother stopped Jaime’s pacing and pushed him on the bed. Tyrion stood directly in front of him, tiny little hands fisted upon tiny little hips. “First, the ladies Stark have only ever attended one tourney in their lives-the one where the Lady Lyanna was shamed in front of her betrothed and the rest of world by the crown prince. And given that everyone knows that House Whent only put on that tourney to show off how wealthy they have become, it is not inconceivable to think many thought the whole affair to be wasteful. Add the two together, Lady Elarra is not only justified in her dislike of tourneys, but perhaps displays a logical mind for it as well. Second, the northern houses are different than the western houses in many ways, but mostly in that when winter comes, they get the worst of it. Northern culture is organized around survival, saving what you can for when the snows come to cut you off from the rest of the world. That is not to say that they eat simple food day in and day out, but that they have a better appreciation for usefulness and wastefulness. I’ve seen Aunt Genna’s plans; your wedding feast is up to forty courses. I daresay your lady is doing a fine job of keeping her opinions to herself.”

 

It did him no good to hear Elarra referred to as his lady. “When did you become such an expert on the north?” Jaime asked in obvious suspicion.

 

“Since Father announced you were betrothed to Lady Elarra Stark of Winterfell,” Tyrion gave him a pointed look. “We have a library brother; it has books about your lady’s home. Were you not even a bit curious?”

 

“In all fairness, brother, we both know my interests have never been in anything to do with the library.” Jaime motioned with his hand that Tyrion could continue.

 

“And your final point, about the dress, makes sense. After all, the more elaborate and bedecked the gown, the happier our sister usually is. However,” Tyrion paused, leaned in close, and motioned for Jaime to do the same. Jaime obliged and leant in close enough for his little brother to whisper in his ear. “Not all people, not even highborn ladies, are the same and are allowed to like different things.”

 

Jaime scoffed and pushed his brother away gently. “You are supposed to be on my side of things,” Jaime reminded him. “Remember, I sit and look lordly and you tell me what to do and gods’ willing, the Westerlands don’t burn down a year into my reign. None of that says anything about you agreeing with my wife against me.”

 

“Your lady wife is the most entertaining thing to happen to the Rock in years, at least, the most entertaining thing that I can make light of without risking my neck,” Tyrion sobered suddenly and gave him the gravest look. “Don’t be determined to be miserable, Jaime. She is not Cersei, I understand that; but perhaps that is her greatest quality.”

 

Jaime barely fought off the urge to scowl. “Enough lecturing, brother. That’s what Father’s here for, isn’t he?”

 

~*~

 

He did not care that their wedding made Elarra unhappy. Jaime considered it a fair exchange, since their wedding had been making him unhappy since he first heard of it. He thought he would be able to stomach her not liking him for being too confident, or handsome, or reckless, or any of the other things that were often listed as a complaint against him. But it was the mundane comment that festered like an infected wound on his chest. He was Ser Jaime Lannister; he was brave, charming, sarcastic, careless, feckless, improper, talented, rich, and conceited. He was a million things, both good and bad, but he was _not_ mundane.

 

He realized quickly she did not expect much of him, no more than what he had already been doing. And so his first childish impulse was to actively do more than he probably should. Of course, that meant laying siege to an almost impenetrable fortress-Genna’s wedding planning. A terrible conversation with his aunt devolved rapidly into bickering that had her threatening to add three more layers of skirts to Elarra’s wedding dress before Tyrion intervened.

 

“He wants to impress his lady,” his little brother, already more well-versed in diplomacy than the rest of the family put together. “She has expressed some . . . discomfort with the amount of decadence you wish to lavish upon her. Perhaps we could come to an accord that satisfies each party in some manner?”

 

Aunt Genna looked thoughtful at the suggestion and Jaime leapt in before she could speak. “Make it white with gold stitch embroidery and none of the stones.”

 

Genna laughed, green eyes twinkling in a manner that worried him. “Gold, with a third of the original amount of stonework. And the train remains at its current length.”

 

“Then no veil,” Jaime spoke over Tyrion, who no doubt was about to agree in full. “She was complaining about the necessity-they don’t wear veils in the north.”

 

“She’s not in the north anymore,” Genna sounded a lot less accommodating just then. “She can’t have her head bare-“

 

“Flowers-red and gold,” Tyrion countered immediately. “Woven into her hair or as a crown on her head-I would leave the execution to your more capable hands, but it would please her and you. Northern brides traditionally wear flowers in their hair and you wouldn’t have to worry about her head being bare.”

 

It took a full more minutes of cajoling before their aunt agreed and Jaime was ready to retire on that one act, having spent more time on the situation than he had really wanted. “And one small thing can make one less mundane?”

 

Jaime growled under his breath and glared down at his little brother. “I regret telling you anything.”

 

“No you don’t,” Tyrion looked far too pleased with himself. “Now, go and ask her to go for a ride. She likes to ride.”

 

“And how do you know that?”

 

“I’m a wizard, using dark and mysterious magics to discover the inner workings of a young lady’s heart,” Tyrion gave him a brilliant smile. “I asked, of course. It’s rather easy to come to know a person if you talk to them. I know; I was shocked to discover it myself.”

 

“You are too little, brother, to be so smug.”

 

“I am too little to be much else, brother.”

 

~*~

A month passed in a near violent speed. Jaime took Elarra on rides in the countryside that quickly devolved into contests. Though he would never admit it to his brother, Tyrion had been proven right. The lady was perhaps not all dourness and disapproval. She was surprisingly competitive in certain things, or maybe not so surprisingly. She didn’t often let him leave a conversation with the last word and never in any of the squabbles with her sister dropped her gaze first. Elarra was just quieter than everyone around her; it was easy to overlook so much about her, though she made no real attempt to hide it.

 

Well, she made no attempt to hide most things. The first few times Jaime takes her hand in his, either to help her to her horse or to settle it in the crook of his arm, he immediately noticed the difference from Cersei’s. His sister’s hands were soft and smooth as silk, dainty and delicate just like the rest of her. Elarra’s hands were soft as well, but he could feel the beginnings of roughness, of calluses starting to form. It was where the calluses threatened to bloom that caught his attention. The pattern was not unfamiliar to him.

 

“Do they let all girls in the North learn swordplay, or just the highborn ladies?”

 

They were just out the gates of the Rock, trotting slowly down the hill, heading in the direction of Lannisport. Elarra was usually quite graceful when astride a horse, but his question caused her to stumble and left her scrambling to find balance. “My lord?”

 

It was probably best not to be smug about it, but Jaime cared little. “You act the proper lady, perhaps a bit too stubborn and judgemental for a southron lady, but still proper. So I haven’t yet caught you in the act, but those hands of yours give you away. You’ve held a sword, my lady, held it properly for at least some time of instruction. Your father allowed you to learn swordplay?”

 

She was quiet for so long that he began to doubt himself. Perhaps he was far off the mark and she was offended by his gall, or some such nonsense. When she finally spoke, it caused him greater relief that he would care to admit. “You disapprove, Ser Jaime?”

 

He looked at her, deliberately using his most dazzling smile. “When we are married, and the Rock finally empties of all these extra bodies, we will go to the woods and see what the North teaches its ladies of swordplay. I suspect I might have quite a few things to correct, and best to start as soon as possible before the habits become harder to break.”

 

“You sound far too happy about the idea, my lord,” Elarra was not quite smiling, but she was not quite frowning either.

 

“I had begun to worry, my lady, that you were boring,” Jaime admitted, smiling wider at the frown his words brought about. “But I am glad to find there is a person under this Northern ice.”

 

She paled and dropped her gaze to her hands. “Your father will not approve.”

 

“That is true,” Jaime nodded, “but my father doesn’t need to know.”

 

And now there was a smile, soft and shy. Her eyes remained fixed upon her hands, the pale white fingers interlaced with the dark leather of the reins. “I wasn’t happy, to come here,” she confessed and the smile slipped instantly off his face. “I obeyed my father, because it was my duty as a daughter. But I didn’t want a southron husband, to live so far from the snows and the woods of my home. I came here, thinking you to be a certain type of man, and your home to be a certain kind of place. It is to my shame that I let those thoughts turn into petulance. I must beg your forgiveness, Ser Jaime. You are not what I thought you would be.”

 

The smile came back, and there was a witty reply on the tip of his tongue, but the lady quickly pushed her horse to a faster pace and forced him to chase her all the way down the hill.

 

~*~

More Northmen arrive for the wedding, including his future good-father and good-brother. Rickard Stark had an arrival as tense and short as Tywin’s just a month back. He performed the niceties well enough, but his grey eyes land on his youngest daughter within minutes of arrival and do not move away. Jaime bowed before the Warden of the North and had his arm clasped in greeting by both Stark men before the welcomes were over. Lady Elarra tried her best to keep things pleasant, tactfully asking if her father would like to rest from his journey before leading her family members to the guest wing. Tywin gave a curt nod at that, something in his eyes that might be akin to approval before he ordered everyone back to their work. Jaime himself had to be led away to his father’s solar for more lordship lessons and cursed Aerys again for sending his father back to the Rock.

 

The Starks arrived for the welcome feast looking clean and refreshed from the road, though Lyanna was conspicuous in her absence. Elarra, though Jaime had never seen her blush exactly, looked paler than was her usual. There was a pinched look to her eyes and her hands twisted together throughout the night. Jaime had spent a painful hour avoiding the hurt plain on his sister’s face, mindful always that his father and uncle were watching. Cersei and Jaime had been under the same roof for a moon’s turn now, and he hadn’t had the opportunity to just look at her fully. It might be wrong to be relieved for the Stark family tension, but it gave him a much needed distraction.

 

“Is Lady Lyanna all right?” he whispered to her when their fathers were busy discussing wedding matters and her brother distracted by his. “You seemed . . . disturbed.”

 

She tried to give him a smile at that, a faltering thing that soon fell off her face. “It’s just-no, it’s fine, perhaps? It was-well, it wasn’t her fault, was it? She didn’t ask him for the crown, and even if she did, he should have known better than to give it her. I just-sometimes I wish we had never gone to that tourney. It seems determined to haunt both our families.”

 

Jaime shook his head. “The king has long looked for an excuse to embarrass my father. If not at Harrenhal, then sometime soon. But I must admit, I was surprised when the news arrived of the prince and your sister. I have not spent much time with the prince, but from the incident with the Kingswood Brotherhood, I would have said there was no doubt about his affection for his wife. That sort of concern . . . I would not have thought it pretence. And yet . . .”

 

“I looked at her, after,” Elarra’s eyes had taken on a hard look. “Lya was so frightened, our brothers and Robert so angry-but the Princess Elia, she smiled. She caught me looking to her and smiled the softest, most graceful smile I had ever seen. But she couldn’t look at the prince, not that he bothered to even look her way. Her eyes, my lord-her eyes were burning with rage and sorrow and violence and so many other things that it stole my breath. I wanted to leave right then, to pack and head back north. But Brandon said we could not run, because it would only prove Lya’s guilt in the eyes of the realm. He said that House Stark had to hold their head high and stare down those who would whisper about our honour. I kept Lya with me, made sure she danced only with our brothers and Robert, and watched every member of the princess’s household with an almost suffocating fear. I thought they would try to harm her, to shame her, but they kept their distance and soon everyone was distracted by the king and Lord Tywin-but I was still afraid. And now, Father just-whatever Lya is, and she is many things, she did not ask for that crown. So why does everyone want to pretend she snatched it greedily from the tip of that lance? She’s just a girl, five and ten and flowered, but just a girl-child.”

 

“Is she, just a girl-child, or is that just what you want her to be?” Jaime shrugged. “Five and ten is not so young-I was battle-tested and knighted by the same age. If she had been born a boy, I’d wager your sister would not have been far behind me. If my sister had been born a boy, I _know_ she would not have been far behind me. Perhaps five and ten is not as young as you want to believe. Perhaps you have spent so long mothering your sister that it’s hard for you to think otherwise.”

 

“Ser, I know my sister-“

 

“Aye, I believe you do. And I do not mean to say that I think she played a willing role in what the prince did. It’s just to say, however your father scolded her, perhaps he was right to do so. My father was once friends with the king, and has served him faithfully for years. Look at his reward. It is best to keep away from the Targaryens; they are not unlike the great beasts of their sigil. They are too large and too fat, so they might not mean you harm, but their intent will not protect you from every flick of their tail. They might bury you alive in the rubble of your own home and never once hold a single thought of malice towards you in their heart.”

 

Elarra sighed and gave him a trembling smile that seemed to threaten tears, though he felt certain he would not see them. “That was very well said, my lord. You are quite wise.”

 

Jaime laughed and gave a wide, toothy grin. “I might have borrowed some of that wisdom from Tyrion.”

 

The smile stopped trembling and he could see her bite the inside of her lip to keep her smile from becoming too large. “Some, my lord?”

 

He said nothing more and she continued to smile down into her plate. And if the sudden screech of chair legs pushing away from the table and his aunt’s subsequent hissing pulled almost everyone’s eyes to his sister, Jaime bit his tongue until he tasted blood but resolutely did not look. Tywin, at the head of the table and ever present in Jaime’s line of vision, nodded once in approval.

 

_The closer you go to her, the safer our sister will be._

 

Jaime grinned with good humour that he did not feel and drained his wine cup in one go.

 

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I do realize that Eddard and Jaime have an antagonistic relationship in the series, but I feel that is entirely rooted in their meeting in King’s Landing after the Sack. My girl!Eddard never fostered in the Vale and never fell into bromance with Robert Baratheon. But I feel that Eddard/Elarra is that same shy teenager in a new, unfamiliar surrounding and finding herself easily charmed by Jaime’s mannerisms, which are not as loud and boisterous as Robert’s, but in the same vein of lordly confidence and interest in general mischief. And as a girl, perhaps she would enjoy Jaime’s sarcastic nature better than Robert’s at times raunchy sense of humour.


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